NowIf I ain’t know no betterI could have been sucked right up into the setupBut I kept my head upAnd every time I fell I would get upSee I don’t need no nines and BerettasI kill with the lines and the letters with the verbs and the nounsJust a kid trying get his sound heard aroundJump into cyphers and keep the old timers astoundedThey said he was the best in the surroundanceCause everyone around him was drowinin’In the fair one, no one son could pound himWith the lyrics, you pray you hear itThey said it’s bad hood credit, imagine good spiritAnd one day his mom and dad will be cheerin’ to his grammy nominationAnd proclamation to his world dominationInauguration into greatnessFrom making rations to cakin’2 AM and he be up like atticHe’s an addict, alarm clock pop, he back at itBarely got any sleepBut, he gotta eatCause ain’t shit cheap and his soul/sole torned out of feetHe got dreams, but don’t plan on sleeping until he reach ’emUntil you out feastin’, paying houses where you sleep inUntil his album ready and his fans get it leaking just for sneak peaks andUntil then, his home is the boothHe spittin’ to the plaque it’s poof off his toothLike Hocus PocusOr word he’s too focusedYou should quote itHis goal is the denial that he wrote itFlowin’ like oceans and menstrualsInk from the pen, lies within my credentialsThey told me that I could be mentalBut mommma always said that I was specialHaters tell me I should stopMy enemies tryin’ see me in the boxSo the streets tell me to cop a Glock and pop itBut something down deep tells me I’m the next prophetLike the new Muhammad or the new Marcus GarveyOr probably, it makes sense why I’m so heavily guardedWait, no, please restart itI’m heavenly guarded, it’s the golden child and for a whileGod been looking down with a smileWatchin’ me prosperAttackin’ with the raps and then conquerThe junior Frank Sinatra, rapping out the OperaYou should spectate in the booth with a suit and binocularsLike nigga it’s a honor, it’s motherfuckin’ honor